THE JOURNAL OF Creative Aging SAGE-ING · CREATIVE AGING is a powerful new social and cultural movement that is stirring the imaginations of communities and people everywhere. This

1sage-ing with creative spirit, grace & gratitude

THE JOURNAL OF Creative Aging

SAGE-INGwith Creative Spirit, Grace & Gratitude

A PUBLICATION OFTHE OKANAGAN INSTITUTE

NUMBER 17, F 2015

EDITED BY KAREN CLOSE

KNOW YOURSELF. BE YOURSELF.LOVE YOURSELF. SHARE YOURSELF.

AVAILABLE ONLINE AT

www.sageing.ca

2 the journal of creative aging | fall 2015

The Voices of Creative AgingCREATIVE AGINGis a powerfulnew social andcultural movementthat is stirring theimaginations ofcommunities andpeople everywhere.

This is the firstbook to documentthe movement.

Often called Sage-ing,Creative Aging takes manyforms: academic, social andpersonal. It includesfestivals, conferences,classes, group sessions andindividual creative pursuits.The Journal Sage-ing WithCreative Spirit, Grace andGratitude was founded bythe Okanagan Institute in2011 to honour thetransformational power ofcreativity. Intended as aninitiative for collaborationand sharing, the Journalpresents the opportunity forthe free exchange of wisdomgleaned from creativeengagement.Sage-ing is about seeking –satisfying inner gnawing andtransforming it to knowingand action. Aging can bealchemy when one allowsthe realisation that to KnowThyself and contribute that

knowing to our culture isindeed one of life’s highestpurposes. That knowingbrings the gratitude, graceand integrity that a lifedeserves. The creativejourney into self is a strongaid to health and wellbeing

for the individual and toour culture.Creative Aging bringstogether more than 50essays and galleries ofimages that showcase thepower of the imaginationexpressed and enjoyed.

From Wood Lake Publishing • $24.95 • In bookstores and online • www.woodlake.com/art


The Journal ofCreative Aging

edited by karen close

number 17, fall 2015issn 1920-5848

SAGE-INGWITH CREATIVE SPIRIT,GRACE & GRATITUDE

a publication of the

Okanagan Institute1473 Ethel Street, Kelowna BC V1Y 2X9www.okanaganinstitute.com

Copyright © 2015 Okanagan Institute.All rights reserved. No part of this publica-tion may be reproduced in any formwithout the permission of the publisher.

This publication is available for onlineviewing and downloading at:

www.sageing.caEmail [email protected]

Cover image by Geri Thom: Laurie’s

Sunrise, photo by Tom Sellek

ISSUE CONTENTS

25 THE WISDOM OF SPIRIT EAGLE:

CREATING A TRUTH AND

RECONCILIATION

JoAnnRestoule

29 I NEVER INTEND TO FEEL OLD

Pauline Duncan-Thrasher

31 IF THESE ARE MISTS: AN

OCTOGENARIAN’S JOURNEY

“THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS”

Alberto Azzis

34 BROWN SWAMP PAINTING:

LEARNING TO LOVE MUDDY ART

Lisa Lipsett

38 PROFILE: ART AND COMMUNITY

Aj Jaeger

39 PROFILE: RON JORGENSEN

Jenny Sato

5 SHAPING MY LIFE INTO ART

Julie Oakes

9 SAGE-ING INVITES CULTURAL

EXCHANGE AND ASSIMILATION

Dr. Toye Oyelese MD

13 THE ME I NEVER DARED TO BE

Geri Thom

16. WIELDING THE BRUSH AND

DRINKING TEA

Elizabeth Elstner and Steven Kenney

19 EVERYDAY’S A JOURNEY INTO

FULFILMENT AND PLEASURE

Madelyn Hamilton

22 THE ART IN A DEPARTURE: TAKING

TIME TO PACK THE VALUABLES

Carolina Sanchez de Bustamante and

Maxwell Sterry

This Fall 2015 issue begins theJournal’s 5th year of publication. Inour culture, ages 4 and 5 marktransition into pre-kindergartenand kindergarten, loosely trans-lated as a children’s garden whereplay becomes purposeful trainingfor the years ahead. What abeautiful metaphor for wherethose of us embracing Sage-ingWith Creative Spirit are positioned.We are the tillers as our Canadianculture transitions into an increas-ing awareness that creative agingis about play, but also has mean-ingful direction and purpose.

In the fall of 2011, I took per-sonally a challenge I had read. Itwas written by Shelley H. Carson,Ph.D., lecturer in the psychologydepartment at Harvard University.In an article outlining recentresearch on creativity and theaging brain she enthused:

“I challenge each citizen,whether you are currently a seniorcitizen or a senior-to-be: first,consider one life lesson that youwould like to pass on to futuregenerations. Second, decide upona creative medium in which youcould embed this lesson - perhaps

a novel or a painting or a musicalpiece. Then make it the work ofyour post-retirement years to growproficient in that medium and toproduce a work that embeds yourmessage.” Carson theorizes thatour growing resource of individu-als with aging brains can preservetheir wisdom in culturally-valuedworks of art, music, or writing. Shesuggests our generation can instilla cultural legacy reflective ofsagacity, discernment, and insight.

My life experience urged me tocreate this online Journal Sage-ingWith Creative Spirit, Grace andGratitude. I wanted to honour thetransformational power of creativ-ity, encourage collaboration andprovide an easel for any form ofartistry undertaken out of personalintuition and imagination. Quickly,it was affirmed, ‘We never walkalone.’ Articles arrived and reader-ship expanded. I am delighted todedicate this issue to the expand-ing network of volunteers, artists,writers, performers, educators andservice providers who use socialmedia to share great ideas aboutenhancing the well-being of adults50+ www.creativeage.ca. I am

FROM THE EDITOR


very excited to be delivering thekeynote address at the ArtSageSymposium October 1, 2015 atMuseum London. The day is co-sponsored by The London CreativeAge Network and the LondonPublic Library. The chronology isrich for me because I was afreshette at London’s University ofWestern Ontario 50 years ago thisfall. Unfortunately, I was unable totake the visual arts major I wishedbecause the program did not yet

exist. Progress has been made, butour understanding of the humanneed for creative expression stillrequires attention. We need toevolve a kindergarten for seniors.The mission of this Journal is vitalto keep us connected on the 21stcentury’s journey into improvedphysical and social wellness for allages.

Thank you to one of our wisecontributors Derryn Yeomans, aretired social worker from Alberta,who sent me this photograph ofher personal kindergarten. Derrynsuggests “play with purpose ...and that purpose can be to leave alegacy of happy moments.....or thepurpose may be pure joy. Thepurpose belongs to each of us ...and at this stage of our lives weare entirely free to set our owncreative agenda ... to regenerateour “child mind”.

I invite each of you to take upProfessor Carson’s creative chal-lenge: “consider one life lessonthat you would like to pass on tofuture generations. Second, decideupon a creative medium in whichyou could embed this lesson”; andthird, please share your creativespirit with our readers.– Karen Close

SUBMITTING AN ARTICLE TO SAGE-ING

• Article is to be related to aging and

creativity, in any of its many forms, as a

path to gaining wisdom and self aware-

ness;

• Article to be attached as a word doc in

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• 500 to a 1500 word maximum;

• Photos: Please attach each photo

separately including: the writer’s headshot

photo and four or five photos, related to

article . All photos should be attached in

high resolution jpg format with a caption;

• Insert the word “photo” with its caption

within the article where you would like

each image placed (we’ll try to honour this

request as layout permits).

• Please include brief bio information

(one or two short paragraphs) placed at

the end of your article; this is meant to

give the reader an idea of who you are,

your passions and/or what you do and

have done with your life that feels

relevant to the article. Include contact

info: email, website, blog address –

whatever you want to include; For each

journal, due date is the 10th of the

month preceding release date. We

release on the equinoxes and solstices.

• Email the article and photographs to

[email protected]


SHAPING MY LIFEINTO ARTJulie Oakes

My Father was a musician and teacher, my mother a homemaker. Much likea child who has received the call from God and knows that his destiny is thepriesthood, I always knew I was an artist. As a baby in school I was the onewho drew, painted and made things. I read about artists and the Left Bankgripped my imagination. Even if I was to be starving in a garret, I would bean artist.

A POEM WRITTEN AT 12 YEARS OLDI’ll live the life I will in God to trustAnd help give way through ARTTo an awareness of subtletiesThat mean so much they press upon my soul

Art as life, Life as art takes it to the next stepEmma Lake, the art workshop in Northern Saskatchewan had just hostedClement Greenburg, the famous art critic and American composer, musictheorist, writer, and artist John Cage. Ted Godwin was the painting prof. I hadjust finished grade 12. We lived in cabins, drank at a bar twenty miles awayand listened to a Thelonius Monk record played over and over in the bigcommon studio as Godwin lashed out crits that made the girls cry. ErnestLindner did an egg tempera of his hand “The Old Artist’s Hand” and anotherusing mine as the model, “The Young Artist’s Hand”. The artist’s life hadbegun.

At The University of Manitoba, Ken Lochhead was the head of the BFAprogram. He ran a progressive program acknowledging the changes asabstract expressionism was nudged over by the emerging Pop artists, theminimalists, the conceptualists or the kinetic artists. During the last year of

my BFA, I made a kinetic piece which was included inwhat would be my first museum exhibition at The Win-nipeg Art Gallery.

Then there was performance art. This was an areawhere the women shone. Judy Chicago was presentingThe Dinner Party. She seemed to me, at the time, to be thequeen of contemporary art with the monumentality ofher work. Carolee Schneeman was enacting Interior Scrolland Meat Joy. She was another one of my favorites.

During my time in Winnipeg, Ron Gabe who laterbecame Private Partz from General Idea, was my room-

Mahmoud Merhaji’s portrait of me

paper bag piece


mate. We put together a video piece, The Purse Snatching which has since thattime entered the annals of GI history as one of their original productions; itis in line with their practice of expropriating or inventing their personal myth.In reality, General Idea didn’t exist at the time.

Turning your life into art was a part of the time. Perhaps it was theloosening of the strictures of identity brought about by mind expandingdrugs or just the vast expanse of the future that stretches out before a youngperson fueled by a history of eccentricity built into the world of fine arts. Forme, it was more than just a possibility. It was, once again, a calling to shapeone’s personal life into art.

As a finale on completing my BFA degree at University of Manitoba, Istaged the happening Spectrum Organization. I was working as a go-go dancerat The St. Charles Hotel and this is where the audience gathered. They wereled into a cube van to sit on folding chairs. Above their heads slices of gummyoranges dangled on strings to give them sustenance on the journey. Thetruck drove them to a site outside of Winnipeg where car lights illuminatedvarious different scenes once the back doors were open for the audience toview. The truck aspect was really horribly insensitive on my part for beingshut in the back of a cube van facing backwards turned a stomach or two. Butit was exciting, part of the art beat of the day.

That summer I returned to Emma Lake for a workshop where I stagedanother happening – Opalescent Transformation. This time, I rented a flatbedtruck on which was built an inclined plane. The audience lay on this surfacewith their hands connected within big foam rubber mitts. Under cover of thenight, the truck pulled them, reclining, to various sites in the woods to viewdifferent scenes.

The Subtleties that pressIn 1970, the Canada Council travelled across Canada visiting studios. Itfunded my first foray outwards, to India. Carrying on the idea of life as art,and with a call to the east insistent amongst long-haired peers, I followed thesun. In Turkey, a girl friend and I picked up a ride with two Americans, a

Californian in beaded buckskin and a pea jack-eted, flared jeaned hipster from NYC. They weredriving a land rover, painted in psychedelic swirls.To India over mountains covered in snow, wewent overland, through Persia, and Afghanistan.In the north of Pakistan the American stashed theseats with hash and sent the car back to the states.

I’ve been all aroundI’ve been to paradise and out the other sideWith no one to guide mePulled ahead by a fire wheel inside me.

Buddha Composed at the Varley Museum

Turning your life intoart was a part of thetime.


Blind Faith, The Stones and The Beatles occupied our minds.The Samye Ling Tibetan Centre in Scotland brought me back to the

making of actual art pieces. Still intent on a designed life I decided that theaction within it, the making of art, should be in line with my experience andthus ring authentic. This influence carried on into the series, The BuddhaComposed which showed at the Penticton Art Gallery, BC, and The VarleyMuseum in Ontario

I consider my work and the lifestyle created to be a result of the way my life hasbeen processed. I lassoed issues, events, and personal changes into pieces in order toget a handle on them. I have created an everlastingness that can endure past my deathto become a part of an overall cultural legacy. Often I used my own physical likenessto reinforce an autobiographical line of research.

Artist as Wife and MomPregnant with my first child, I contemplated the future staring into a mirrorpassed down to me from my paternal grandmother. I made a large painting.

We lived back-to-the-land with a studio in the woods, 40 miles from thenearest town and three miles from the nearest electrical line. Commentingon the impression I formed from this lifestyle, Earthlines Deadlines Lifelinesresulted in attracting National media.

And dealing with it all, I was not always happy. For this painting, Istopped the argument of the time and asked my interlocutor to photographme crying.

IWWAP – I am a Woman with a Past – A perform-ance on the small lake on our land told the story of apersonal betrayal.

Travel was importantMy son was born in the Bahamas

From the first time I travelled to New York, theimages got tougher.

In Venice, romantic.Human Sacrifice is a drawing series of autobio-

graphical libidinous tales taking place in Italy and NewYork.

Above:

me pregnant

sleeping with child

Earth Deadlines

Not always happy

Below:

Art Venice

Performance piece

Feminist art

A New York drawing


If there was a “calling”, so there was a vocationand that has been within the great church of art. Artbuoys life. It makes the unpalatable quite tasty andstops the doubt These words from the I Ching haveguided me along my path – “it furthers one to havesomewhere to go.”

They call it inspiredIt’s more like wiredSparked, firedAnd never tired.When feeling weakOr merely meekIt’s time to tweak, speakTo peakThey say life is longI’d say they’re wrongIt’s short and it’s strongWhen Art rings the gong.

From September 20, 2015 to January 3, 2016 Julie Oakes:

Awestruck Calendar of Ecology, Curated by Christian Bernard

Singer can be seen at the Canadian Clay and Glass Gallery, 25

Caroline Street North, Waterloo, Ontario.

www.theclayandglass.ca

In this new exhibition of sculptures and installations Julie

Oakes suggests a planetary future of cataclysmic storms leaving

“a wounding devastation that is both natural and man-made.”

Yet, as in all of her work, there is great beauty – even in catastrophe and death. Through her

carefully staged scenes of anthropomorphic animal subjects within an idealized natural

world, Oakes continues to explore themes of spirituality found in nature while addressing

ecological concerns about the sustainability of the planet.

Julie Oakes and her partner Richard Fogarty operate The Headbones Art Gallery 6700 Old

Kamloops Road outside Vernon, BC. www.headbonesgallery.com www.julieoakes.com

Tapestry woven in China from a gouache

painting by Julie the tapestry Day Here

Night There points to the interdependency

between cultures.


SAGE-ING INVITESCULTURALEXCHANGE ANDASSIMILATIONDr. Toye Oyelese MD

INTRODUCTIONKaren Close

Dr. Toye Oyelese was born in Montreal, Quebec in 1963, but very soon hisNigerian parents made the decision to return their family to Nigeria whereToye would gain understanding and appreciation for his African tribe, theYoruba people. Toye credits his early development to the fact that his nearsightedness was not diagnosed until he was 7 years old. As an intenselycurious child focused on minutia, he learned to see deeply into people andsituations. For Yorubans a child is said to be born with a name brought fromheaven. Toye’s name means ‘redeemer’. He shares his tribe’s belief in fateand destiny, but recognises that although every individual is pre-destined toaccomplish certain things or achieve certain things in life what happens isdependent on the choices made by the individual even in response to thosethings that he has no control over. Toye is intensely proud of the lessons helearned growing up observing his people and strongly aware of the respon-sibility of his name. He is a man who has taken time to know himself, behimself, love himself and share himself.

Before we met in person he wrote, “I think that there are many of us onthe same journey, and we are cosmically from the same place, so I am veryexcited about meeting other members of the same tribe.”

Shortly thereafter an evening of engaging conversation with Toye andhis wife, Denise, stimulated me to further research Yoruban culture. I learnedthe country is very old and was at one time very prosperous, and powerful.Tragically it has allowed itself to be torn and wasted by tribal jealousies andinternal dissensions. However, the intriguing part is no significant writtenhistorical records exist. The earliest attempts to reduce the language intowriting were not begun until the 1940’s. Toye proudly explains how hisgrandmother guided his ethical development with carefully composed oralstories, based in traditional legends, but given her own twist according to herwisdom. Isn’t this the essence of creativity? Each adds perspective accordingto their own perception. Among anthropologists there appears to be agree-ment all Yorubans are imbued with a deep religious spirit, reverentialmanners and show deference to superiors and respect to age. I imagine such


a culture as the birthplace of Sage-ing and the tribe of those of us called to agewith imagination and creative spirit.

When I read Toye’s book, My Handbook and comments he sent to me,I felt a deep connection with his words and philosophy. These are recountedbelow in a randomly excerpted free flowing narration - Yoruban storytellingstyle.

My Handbook is a free book so kindly give it to anybody who you think maybenefit from it - I consider it my way of giving back to a Universe that hastaught me so much and given me so much. Articulating these experiences ina manner that is meaningful and useful to other people is a sizeable challenge.My Handbook is an experienced based rendition of the concepts and tacticsthat facilitated my adaptation to different systems. My creative style followswhat I call “the village series” when the elders of the tribes shared ideas andexperiences that enhanced learning through stories and analogies withouteverything having to be factual or scientific. Please share my items withwhomever you want. However, My Handbook is copyrighted so permissionis required to reprint or use publicly.

Storytelling and analogies are useful in gaining or regaining perspectiveand making good choices especially in difficult situations. My grandmothertaught me this.

Any challenge provides an opportunity for growth if I allow myself toperceive it in that manner. When things do not go as planned I have a choice,to perceive the outcome either as a work in progress or a total failure. HowI perceive anything is just as important or sometimes more important thanwhat is really happening.

Life is like a journey where nothing is ever easy or hard but relative to howI choose to see (perceive) it. I have learned more from the experiences that Iinitially perceived as unpleasant than from the ones I perceived as pleasant.Although I do not recommend unpleasant experiences as the main source oflearning (I personally prefer mentorship) it is important to make the most ofwhatever life throws our way and find ways to get the results that we want.

How I choose to see things (my perception) is a remarkable tool that canwork for me or against me. I am always influenced by how I see things andthis in turn is directly related to how I have defined them in my mindtherefore to do it differently, I have to be willing to define it differently in mymind.

I grew up in an African culture that exposed me to the art of storytellingas a form of therapy and the use of proverbs and analogies to illustrate andstimulate the imagination. I have used this as an effective tactic in my medicalpractice. I was often surprised by how unfamiliar my “North American”patients were with this method, but very gratified by how quickly theyresponded to it. The feedback from these many patients, friends and stran-gers with whom I have shared these experiences convinced me that a booklike this is worth writing.

You can download the book at

www.sageing.ca


My father was tragically killed in a motor vehicle accidentbefore my tenth birthday. The suddenness and finality of thechange was devastating, but the process of adapting to thischange taught me some of the most important lessons of mylife.

When there is a contest between my will and my imagina-tion my imagination always wins. The purpose of my imagina-tion is imagery, to provide me with direction, it allows me toappreciate what I want, to see where I am going and where Iwant to go. The “will” is the machine that gets me there, it lacksimagery, as this would distract it from its task of making me dothe same things over and over again until I achieve the resultthat I want.

My imagination and my will should always be working asa team, together and not against each other and so it isimportant for me to be aware of the things that stimulate myimagination. It is almost impossible for me to will myself toimagine anything, as the act of imagining itself is a form ofletting go of reality and visualize what I want reality to be.Verbalizing my intended direction is a very important tacticfor stimulating my imagination.

Remember that what belongs to the heart can never betaken from you, can never be stolen or bought but is given

freely by those you love and who love you and this love is a precioussubstance from which we all derive our existence. Find time to enjoy thebeauty of your existence, to revel in and maximize the opportunities youhave, to love and be loved in return. Let your eyes be open so that you cancapture forever the images that are dear to you that they may forever remainwith you even after they may have left you and like distant stars continue toglimmer in the night of your existence light years after they have gone.

I will be my own best friendWhen I do not feel like hearing myself I will find a way to listenWhen I do not feel like seeing myself I will find a way to look

When I do not feel I love myself I will find a way to careWhen I do not feel I deserve anything I will find a way to giveWhen I feel that no one is there I will be my own best friend

self love = self awareness + self acceptance

I do write poetry and I am slowly working my way to putting a book together- my poems are deliberately simplistic and philosophical (philosophicalpoetry - if there is such a thing). They are written for me but I hope others willenjoy them.

My Grandmother


SELF LOVEI need to know myself

Know how I define me

The good and the bad

The ugly and the lovely

When every bone is counted

Behind every cupboard door

Nothing that is recanted

Would make me hit the floor

Nothing there to hide

No more fear to harness

I can now enjoy the ride

For I have self-awareness

When all the parts of me

My body and my soul

Have found a home to be

I have achieved my goal

For all the things I am

The assets and the “Asses”

Make me who I am

So I give no excuses

My mind is the only place

To find full repentance

I can now keep the pace

Because of self-acceptance

The self that is now aware

The self that is accepted

No more harbours fear

Self-love is now created

WHAT (GOD) IS IN MEYou must learn to pray the preacher said

And always bow your head

Know the line that you’d never cross

Remember who is the boss

Everyday I prayed for you to come

Before I went to bed

A morning in November I awoke

To find my Dad was dead

As my sorrow turned to anger

And my hoping turned to dread

As I wondered what was up ahead

You revealed yourself to me.

I knelt beside the Angel sent

Where the heavens meet the earth

The ground beneath begins to shake

And the ocean streams into the sea

I look above to the darkened cloud

And the lightening strikes the tree

I tremble at the sight of thee

Was that lightning strike for me

No one told me you were a woman

I wondered should I get up and flee

They always said you were a man

It never made sense to me

I look again you are now a child

Reminding me of me

Is this the truth they’ve tried to hide

Or have you simply forsaken me

I have run until I stand still

l have reached the speed of light

I have caught up with reality

And found what (that God) is in me

In August 2009 Toye Oyelese moved to Kelowna, British Columbia. He has a family practice

at the Westside Medical Associates in West Kelowna. He has a fellowship in family medicine

and volunteered as a coordinator at the Canadian College of Family Medicine (CCFP)

qualifying examination for many years. He was a clinical instructor at the southern medical

program – University of British Columbia Okanagan and worked at the Health and Wellness

Students’ clinic at the UBCO campus in Kelowna. [email protected]


THE ME I NEVERDARED TO BEGeri Thom

At 62 years old I am finally the painter I always wished I could be and neverdared to be. Painting has been my secret dream for most of my life and I amso grateful for this God given gift and the paths that have led me here.

When I was in grade 6 our class was given the task of writing a reportabout Canada’s aboriginal culture. I decided to include a drawing of theirtraditional home and an aboriginal man. I spent hours studying the musclestructure of the human body in encyclopedias and comic books. They weremy only resources. I was so proud of my results and excitedly handed in myreport. My teacher accused me of tracing this figure and although I angrilyand hurtfully denied it he refused to believe me and gave me a failing grade.I never drew after this experience until my 30’s where I made two attemptsthat I didn’t pursue further. It took me nearly 50 years to recapture that partof myself I had allowed him to squash.

The last few years of my life have been the most challenging. Thoughthese times have often been deeply painful and disappointing, painting hasbecome my escape and a fresh spring breeze. It feels like rebirth and I feel suchamazement. Every time I finish a painting I say to myself, “I did this.”

My first finished and framed painting was a watercolor of a farm housein Saskatchewan.

It was a birthday gift for my husband’s Aunt Blanche. She had raised himfrom the time he was 15 years old and they maintained a very closerelationship until her death at ninety-eight. Our lives revolved aroundBlanche. We made no plans that did not consider or include Blanche. We

were a nucleus of three not two. Shewas an amazing woman and always aforce to be reckoned with, very inde-pendent, articulate and astute. Whileattending gatherings in our home shedelightedly discussed world politicsand economics with our guests andalways left them in awe. The farmhouse I painted was one she lived in asa young girl and often reminiscedabout. I had never painted anythingother than a piece of fruit and neverlarger than eight by ten inches. Thislandscape was to be sixteen by twentyfour inches - a very daunting project

Blanche’s House


to say the least. I had never taken an art class, but wasdetermined to do this painting for Blanche. It tookseveral weeks and a lot of breath holding to completeand once again, like when I was in grade 6, I wasamazed at what I had accomplished. Blanche loved itand said “Thank you for honouring me with your firstpainting.” Those words were her greatest gift to me.I don’t feel it is a very good painting, but I shall alwaystreasure it along with those words. Perhaps I stillallow my inner critic too strong a voice. It was a verypersonal moment between us and a huge step to-wards me pursuing my lifelong dream.

So much of what we accomplish in life, no matterhow noble, evaporates when we die. My paintings aretangible and will live on after me. They say I was hereand they tell my story. I feel this more acutely with nothaving had children. Once gone I will leave no foot-print of myself. The stuff we buy is passed down to thenext generation, but paintings reflect an artist’s souland what can be more personal than that.

I have heard it said that we do not grow duringour happiest times. We grow during our darkest days.For me that is very true. Blanche’s death and theresulting dismantling of all she was, and held dear, lefta deep wound that only time and God can heal. It wasduring this time I found myself searching even deeper

for sanctuary through painting.I am grateful to a friend who dragged me to a table to paint even though

I insisted I could not paint and even more grateful to her for taking me to anoil painting class presented by Gene Prokop. That was three and a half yearsago and I faithfully attend his monthly classes and have grown in strides sincethen, learning composition, color harmony, small medium and large shapes,and light medium and dark values. In the beginning these were only words,but subtly I now see all of these things in the world around me. I have learnedand evolved into a painter in spite of my self doubts.

Women of the past and my generation have traditionally put asidethemselves to nurture and care for others. It seems only in later years that wefinally can pursue our secret dreams, and wonder what could have been hadwe started earlier. I am one of those women and do wonder what could havebeen, but perhaps I was not ready to grasp this honour until now. Everythingin its time.

This Tuscan landscape was faithfully worked on only in class and it took9 months to complete. I gave birth to a painting complete with labour pains.Along those many months my cousin Laurie would ask for a photo of mylatest progress on this painting and tell me how much she loved it. Unfortu-

Sooke, BC, done from one of my photo-

graphs

Laurie’s Sunrise, photo by Tom Sellek


nately, it was completed during Laurie’s final chosenjourney past her pain of advanced MS. As I painted Icould feel her floating away from all of us who lovedher. She moved into peace and freedom from herdebilitating pain and constantly eroding dignity. Shenever saw the finished painting, but I have named it‘Laurie’s Sunrise’ and treasure my final journey withher.

Painting has become the mirror to my soul forothers yes, but more especially for myself. I see mypath back to faith in God. I can’t explain why God,rather than any number of belief options in the world.

I do know I feel peace, trust, joy and thankfulness. God feels right for me, andI have finally been introduced to me. I feel a greater sense of completeness,and the world around me has become softer. As I do with life, I struggle withimpatience, doubts and setbacks in painting too, but anything worthwhilecomes with challenges. That’s how we grow and learn to value our gifts.

I am finally the me I never dared to be.

Geri Thom was born and raised in Prince George B.C. She enjoyed a long career in

mechanical drafting and design starting with her father’s logging equipment designs then on

to pulp mills, Western Star Trucks and finally aircraft modifications with Kelowna Flightcraft.

She retired about five years ago to concentrate on her family of husband Ken, two step

daughters and five grandchildren. She is also enjoying her love of gardening, traveling,

entertaining their Airedale, and family history research. In past years she enjoyed doing

stained glass and concrete benches with glass inlays , running and hiking. She has partici-

pated in a number of community volunteer efforts most extensively around suicide interven-

tion and youth suicide prevention and education. She found the most fun volunteer effort

was working with “Making Memories” Nutcracker performance. It was a program devel-

oped by her husband Ken and staff, Lori Larson and Mel Brown’s Canadian School of Ballet,

Debbie MacMillan and a number of community agencies to bring a Christmas performance

to children who were unable to attend a regular theatre performance.

I’m still working on this portrait of Laurie

which I’m doing from a photo taken by Tim

Swanky

Painting has becomethe mirror to my soulfor others yes, butmore especially formyself.


WIELDING THEBRUSH ANDDRINKING TEAElizabeth Elstner and Steven Kenney

Calligraphy has long been considered one of the highest forms of visual arts in EasternAsia... {it} is seen as revealing the inner character of the person wielding the brush,expressing not only the meaning of the text but also the personality of the calligrapher.Stephen Addiss on ‘The Calligraphy of Noriko Maeda’

Many years ago I reluctantly, since I didn’t play golf, entered a charitygolf tournament. The only good thing that happened that day was that I metNoriko Maeda who suggested that I join her Japanese calligraphy classesgiven in her home here in Waterloo, Ontario. I think she could see it wasobvious that golf wasn’t my thing. Since I was in the process of retiring fromthe practice of law, I thought I would give it a try. It is now 8 years later.

Noriko is very personable and entertaining. She is outgoing and sharesamusing stories from her travel and experiences. She serves green tea andtreats. My fellow classmates add to the enjoyment. Several of them areprofessional artists who want to learn a different way of making marks in artand to learn about the purity, or simplicity, of a line in calligraphy. Othershave recently moved here from Japan and have limited English, but enjoy thecontact and are very good at calligraphy.

Several men in the classes are from the tech community. We are a variedgroup.

I have learned some principles of art like white space and balance soforms can be seen as black on white or white coming out from black.Interesting to consider, but more importantly, the process of doing calligra-phy has captivated me. It took me a long time to learn to breathe, to slowdown my mind and consequently my hand, and to enjoy the moment withthe brush. It is in those present moments as I follow the brush into me whenthe joy happens and that something in me releases.

Each week we work on a Japanese symbol or symbols chosen by Norikoin either cursive, or block, or primitive styles. Noriko explains the meaningof the word or words, and sometimes the historical origin of the shapes. Shedemonstrates, and then leaves us to come up with our, sometimes loose,representations working from her example. I began to discover my best workwas created on those days when I had given up trying for perfection andthought I was just putting in the time. Something relaxed and expressivewould sometimes appear on the page. Thinking it didn’t conform exactly toher example, I would be about to throw it away when Noriko would rescuethe sheet.

Elizabeth Elstner

It took me a long timeto learn to breathe, toslow down my mindand consequently myhand, and to enjoy themoment with thebrush. It is in thosepresent moments as Ifollow the brush intome when the joyhappens and thatsomething in mereleases.


Two of those rescued pieces have won silver and bronze medals in theCanadian calligraphy competitions sponsored annually by the JapaneseCultural Centre in Toronto. They won because the judges said that althoughmy character formation was “juvenile”, the works showed personality. I’mpleased to see those glimpses into me.

Indirectly through our casual talk we learn about Japanese culture and itsreverence for things made by the human hand. We also learn about thephilosophical and historical underpinnings of the symbols we work on andthat can be very interesting. I am often amazed by the complexity and historyof how these symbol for the Japanese represent a word or thought or feeling.For example, my silver winning piece from a few years ago says “nothing-ness” or “emptiness”. To me that was a pretty negative, undesirable symbolto work on for the competition. However, I discovered that In Japaneseculture this concept has a very opposite meaning to our Western understand-ing. Emptiness is a desired state where one’s mind is in a calm, serene,balanced state without distraction. Noriko meditates at midnight beforeworking on one of her large private commissions in order to get to such amental state.

Another year I did a series of symbols known as “small man bottle”.These symbols represent a parable which loosely translates that a poorperson can live in a seemingly undesirable, small space (a dirty bottle) and behappier than a rich man living in a mansion. The symbols were in primitivestyle which looks to me like something to be found on a cave wall. I didn’t wina medal, but I gained insight into a culture that respects the deep andmeaningful subtleties expressed within marks made by the hand. It suits mebetter than golf.

I am looking forward to our class starting again in September. If you areinterested in expressive, large format Japanese calligraphy check outwww.norikomaeda.com . Noriko Maeda currently teaches weekly in Water-loo, Hamilton, Toronto and monthly in Tokyo.

Early in my career, it became very evident that stress was a major componentof my working life. The practice of law is ranked as one of the professions thataccounts for a high occurrence of addictive/substance abuse behavior. As atrial lawyer in medical negligence and personal injury, I encounter peoplewho have been significantly injured. One tries to remain objective. How-ever, advocating for individuals and families, who have and continue tosuffer from various traumas, has always had a significant impact on me-physically and emotionally.

Justice is often slow. Advocating is an unending activity that requiresintense focus 24-7. One cannot complain too loudly because I have had a verysuccessful career full of personal and financial satisfaction; and, the opportu-nity to meet many wonderful individuals. However, stress has a way ofeating at your heart and soul. During law school, one professor highlyrecommended that each of us find a hobby or activity outside of law- in order

Top: enjoying

Middle: my silver medal work

Above: Noriko begins class

Steven Kenney


to maintain sanity. I didn’t, and for many years I let my practice control me.About 10 years ago, a good friend of mine (also a lawyer) mentioned

Japanese Calligraphy - how she enjoyed learning Japanese characters, finish-ing a project at the end of a lesson, socializing with “tea”; and, simply takinga break from law. Liz’s enthusiasm, youthful non-stressed attitude resultedin my joining the class and being taught by Sensei Noriko Maeda.

Before my first class, I researched Japanese Calligraphy on the internet.The characters appeared simple, serene and “easy to draw”. I expected aperiod of time to adjust, however, after several lessons, I noticed that my skillset had not progressed as fast as I had expected. I didn’t have the artisticbackground that my calligraphy mates had. Each one was focused, yet atease. Sensei Noriko would give me encouragement, tell me to listen to mybrush, relax the shoulders, and enjoy the moment. I tried, but knew I wasforcing the moment. I almost quit calligraphy. Instead, during my classes, Ispent time watching my creative mates. I tried to find the secret to theircreative and non-stressed success.

Three of my mates were over 80 years old, and the majority were over65 and retired- surely they would have some piece of creative wisdom to passonto me. I listened intently as each would be self -critical of his or her work.But the self-criticism was never bitter or negative. What I came to realize was- creativity exists in each of us. It isn’t always the same form, type or intensity-but it is there. However, creativity is stifled by stress and it is necessary toaccept that perfection is not synonymous with creativity. Every day, we usecreativity to help us- pick clothes, prepare meals, keep children amused, solveproblems, arrange furniture, tell stories and so much more.

My father-in-law continued to drive, play bridge, do crossword puzzles,cook a meal and help others at the great age of 92. His philosophy was- keepactive, use your brain and body to the very best that you can. He accepted hisfumbling with grace, his stumbling with a song and his mumbling withlaughter. On each occasion his creativity shone through.

I continue with my calligraphy, more or less stress free. I have a longjourney yet, still in the early spring of life. My form of creative Japanesecalligraphy is not perfect, but it speaks to me. I refuse to think of aging or“retiring” in the traditional sense. I appreciate that my body is aging, and hasbeen since I was born. However for my mind, body and spirit I prefer tofollow Bob Dylan’s great song “Forever Young”.

From Japanese Calligraphy I have learned it isn’t the type of activityone does it is simply doing a creative activity. Think outside of the box, themind and spirit are creative tools that keep the youth in aging. Think youngand remain young no matter what age.

[email protected]

The class

What I came to realizewas - creativity existsin each of us. It isn’talways the same form,type or intensity- but itis there. However,creativity is stifled bystress and it isnecessary to acceptthat perfection is notsynonymous withcreativity.


EVERYDAY’S AJOURNEY INTOFULFILMENT ANDPLEASUREMadelyn Hamilton

A few days ago I entered my Studio and closed the door behind me. I wasenveloped within that quiet space, one that allows emotional removal fromthe everyday world of distraction. I began to remember again my savedelementary school report cards. They are many, many decades old. I recalledmy early images of horses - always. I thought they were amazing, exciting,and beautiful animals, and I had a passion for drawing and colouring them.I then recalled the teen years, when I moved on to the topic of landscape,often copied - no individuality as yet. My Dad built me a special box to holdmy newly acquired oil paints. I painted in my bedroom, or I painted down ina chilly small basement. It didn’t matter; I just wanted to paint - or draw, mostof the time from what I knew and remembered. Another isolated andcreative urge was given to a few days spent ‘redesigning’ the chicken coop,which I transformed into a charming, we thought, playhouse for my littlesister. Creativity, which I believe is inside of every person, has no boundariesor limits.

As I stood there in my studio enveloped in memory, the course of timecame slowly back to me. I remembered the eventual necessity required toleave the painting and drawing of my younger years and move into the ‘paid’workforce. Next, and predictably of the times, I married at a relatively earlyage, and soon thereafter my children were born. Due to my husband’sprofession, we moved every two years. I stayed home with my little boys -no daycare. I was busy beyond imagination with family and time restraints.Somehow though, because the compelling urge to ‘make things’ was stronglyinside of me, I wedged into my life a few short courses.

There was an upholstery class at which I learned how to cover afunctional object of my own design. As I recalled, that was a hamper for soiledclothes. Yay! I’ve moved forward. Soon after, I took an Interior Decoratingcourse, which in years past would have helped me to beautify and enhancethe chicken coop for my sister. Then there was art by correspondence.Restrictive, I remembered, but an outlet nevertheless. Always within me wasthe need to create. Great pleasure came from the results, knowing they hadderived from a sum total of my own ideas, my inner thoughts, feelings, needs,and of course, the use of my own two hands.

Eventually, my children left home, and my husband and I settled into one


town. There was a new awareness ofthe passage of time. I needed a seriousand dedicated plan, one that would en-able me to advance my skills over theyears yet to come. With a Diploma inFine Arts long behind me, I took a fear-ful leap into the world of university anda Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. I wasolder. Still, during those four years ofintensive study and learning I discov-ered what I thought I knew, I didn’t.

The most dreaded words from theprofs were, “I’ve seen that before, startover.” So I needed to reach deep insideof myself, to places never considered.New ideas began to take the place of old.I began to see my world as never before.There was new meaning to the word‘see’.

Allow me to explain here, the defi-nition of that word ‘see’ as I now under-stand it. In my new world of vision, theword ‘see’ means: intense observationfor a period of time, enough time, thatis, to enable the absorption of whateverhas intrigued my interest. That way of

‘seeing’ is in contrast to ‘the quick glance’, where the eye quickly scans anddetailed information has not been observed. Seeing became meaningful toboth my personal knowledge, and very importantly, to the art I create? Thereare no limitations. I see the oily patterns in my cooking pan, vague andintriguing images through fog, the beauteous colours, textures and shapes inmy compost heap. On our ravine edge, I watch in awe the strength andendurance of trees as they thrash and flail against strong winds that areseemingly attempting to uproot them. When transparent, water allows meto look below; I see organic shapes, wondrous colours and echoed reflec-tions. I watch the water as it foams, splashes, leaps and rushes or slowly,slowly meanders along. I allowed myself to look at the faces of the homeless,with their expressions of hopelessness and despair. My mind’s eye hasroamed into consideration of the plight of women, both in domestic roles,and of those on ‘the street’.

My garden, this small piece of land that surrounds our house, on theravine edge, has been a source of creativity for many, many years as it hasexperienced varied transitions. I ponder it through my windows during theconfining winter months, planning my spring time moves which ofteninvolve pickaxe and shovel; I am grateful to be very physically strong. The

Left: Ironing

Right: Coffee Series #1


continuous liberty of changing my yard designs staves offlandscaping boredom. I’m not content with leaving thingsas they are; I am always happy to create new spaces, addnew plants and trees, realign rocks. A stream can be dugout, a bridge designed by myself and built by my support-ive husband, or a new mound of earth can add dimensionto the landscape. The immersion in garden designing iscarried into my studio. It will possibly affect the nextpainting, or the one in process.

I have come to guard my freedom of expressionwhether it be through painting, gardening, or other de-sires. Over time it became clear to me, and via personalexperience such as commission work, that creating solelyfor the market place would inhibit my true freedom ofexpression. The attempt to please others would create an

inner conflict. It could, and it does, mentally and emotionally block theexpression of my own marks, my colours, my freedom of brush stroke andtexture, and the ideas and concerns that are uniquely mine .

Learning is always taking place. Over a long period of time, I havelearned to not be afraid, to not worry about ‘making a mistake’. I now furtherunderstand that some ideas are more difficult to express, and some willconclude not as I had initially envisioned. I will continue to explore visuallyand internally my surrounds, to trial new methods and to depict the natureI have a passion for as long as good health will allow. I am ever grateful to havean inborn and insatiable curiosity and for the eternal need to learn. These areoptions for anyone.

Regardless of age, as I have found, if a person feels driven to createsomething, the pleasure experienced from that creation will offer to every-day life feelings of fulfilment and pleasure. A studio is not essential if one hasthe urge to upholster a clothes hamper, to beautify a chicken coop, or dig anew hole in the garden.

I market my own work. I show in Public Galleries, at Art Fairs, and injuried shows.

Madelyn Hamilton is a longtime resident of West Kelowna, B.C. During that time and over

a lifetime the force of creativity has grown in strength and meaning. She has a long history

of meeting the challenges of art. This would include the Diploma in Fine Arts, and much later

in life completion of the BFA from U.B.C. Okanagan.

Madelyn’s work has a focus on highly textured and tactile surfaces, such as those seen in

the natural world. The focus of her ideas are nature based, although over time many other

ideas have been expressed such as women’s issues. Often, regardless of the subject matter,

random found objects are adhered to the matrix, symbolizing the idea of nature and

humanity as sharing the same surface. Her conclusive intent is to offer the viewer a more

acute awareness of the surrounding environment and its occupants.

Madelyn markets her work through Public Art Galleries, juried shows and her home

studio. Her work over the years has been purchased both regionally and abroad.

www.madelynhamilton.com

Above: Windy Rhythms

Below: The Sentinel


THE ARTIN A DEPARTURETAKING TIME TO PACK THE VALUABLES

Carolina Sanchez de Bustamanteand Maxwell Sterry

Introduction: Karen CloseDuring the opening for the installation of The Artist’s Garden Project:Pieces of What at the Kelowna Art Gallery Maxwell Sterry was asked whathe had learned from creating a sculptural piece with his artist mother. Quietlyconfident, he deadpanned, “That my mother is always right.” Laughter wasloud and his mother’s smile broad. I also thought, ‘Many a true word is saidin jest.”

Carolina Sanchez de Bustamante is a loving and wise woman. Her smileradiates the pride and dreams for her only son about to travel across thecountry to study architecture at McGill University in Montreal. Like allmothers Carolina prays she’s done her job and that Maxwell has what heneeds to embark on independence. She understands synthesizing wisdomfrom life experience and sharing it in easily chewed, palatable morsels, tastyfor a nineteen year old, is not easy. She has been patient. Maxwell wasdevastated a year ago when his 95% academic average failed to gain him aplace in architecture. He became ready to ask for advice from his mother, anArgentinian who studied architectural design. Plans for the educating ofMaxwell were begun.

Maxwell has never been to Argentina to experience first hand the richculture that nourished his mother’s creative spirit, but he has grown up in ahome that has been his mother’s small gallery and studio. Since the early 90’sCarolina has been making architectural ceramics in the Okanagan creatingoriginal and innovative designs in clay for customer’s living environments.She believes in architectural art. She describes it as when purity of artisticdesign fuses with the integrity of function. Carolina’s philosophy is based inthe belief that a passion for art should be at the heart of living spaces. Knowingyour passion enables one to make their home a personal statement. A goodarchitect needs discernment and a strong sense of aesthetic values to pleaseclients. How better to plant these seeds than for mother and son to experiencethe act of creating Pieces of What together?

The sculpture, erected this past spring, is a year long installation explor-ing an environmental theme and features translucent columns strung withspherical objects made from clean trash. During this past winter both motherand son collected the bits. Their choices reflect what each finds of interest andworthy of inclusion in the clear plastic strings hung to render columns. Thecolumns feel joyful, and the strings remind one of popcorn garlands on an old

Carolina and Max

Although our mother/son relation has beenpositive before, I felt ithas deepened inunderstanding moreabout each other,sharing tolerance andlaughter.


fashion Christmas tree. They are the focal point in thecentre of the gallery space. Along the sides of the space, inself-watering bins, vegetables and herbs grow. The pro-duce will be harvested this fall by gallery visitors.

Harvesting is a theme and whether the columns arereferences to past civilizations or those of the future is upto one’s personal interpretation. The metamorphosis ofthe elements of this carefully considered work will have towait until spring and Maxwell’s return from his first yearat university. Metaphor allows the communication ofvaluable insight and wisdom.

From Carolina:When the opportunity to have a solo exhibition at theKAG was presented, immediately I thought about invitingMaxwell to participate.

I expressed to Max my wishes and what was expectedfrom us, as artists, without giving him any ideas of theconcept of the piece.

We talked about how an art proposal in generaldevelops, then I suggested that he should put together theart concept according to the space available, the designspecifications behind it and the logistics to set the installa-

tion in site. A few days later we talked about his approach and the conversa-tion started to move forward with the creation of the piece.

We joked that Max would be the brain behind it, I would just lend himmy artistic CV… ha, ha, ha.

My hope was that this project would give Max the sense of what an artproposal is all about, which carries certain similarities with an architecturalproposal. I wanted him to be able to use his understanding of the proposal andthe installation result as part of his Undergraduate Portfolio. As well I thoughthe would acquire experience for future university projects.

At the end, after going through the ‘know it all’ and emotional aspect ofit, it was really positive. Not only did we achieve the “clean trash” artinstallation on time, but it looks stunning and was well received by the KAGand the public in general.

Personally, I sincerely appreciate the trust that Liz Wylie, the Curator ofthe KAG had in me, after listening on our first meeting to this crazy proposalfrom a mother and her 18 years old son.

Although our mother/son relation has been positive before, I felt it hasdeepened in understanding more about each other, sharing tolerance andlaughter. I am confident that Max with his creativity, optimism and kindnesswill achieve big things in his life.

Top: creating together

Above: no picking yet


From Maxwell:Looking back, there is one memorythat stands out to me. The first beingthe day we assembled our first col-umn, the plastic based yellow one.When I joined the two acrylic tubesthat formed the trunk, I’ll admit thattwelve feet looked taller than I hadimagined, however I had confidencein the system; I just had to secure it. Aswe attached the top and began tyingoff the fishing line to the base, mymother grew closer and closer to hys-terics and spent time frantically tryingto tie off the wavering tower of plas-tic. Eventually I sent her to the studio

so I could finish tying the lines, and when she returned all the knots had beentensioned and the column was surprisingly sturdy. I believe this memoryresonates with me because of the pride I felt having done something that anumber of people far more qualified than myself said wouldn’t work.

I joked during the opening for the show that I did most of the project, andmy mother’s name was only on the paperwork because no art gallery wouldgive an eighteen year old with no artistic past a solo exhibition. While myremark was a slight exaggeration, I do believe that my mother suggested thatI make a lot of the decisions on the direction of the project in order to try andteach me the process of creating. Coming up with a concept, refining theconcept into a proposal and finding solutions to problems such as “how dowe make fishing line stand up straight?” were some of the decisions that wereleft up to me - with occasional input and advice from my mother keeping meon the right track.

This isn’t to say that I did everything; the vast majority of the sphericalelements dangling from the lines were my mom’s work, as well as many ofthe other tasks that took large amounts of time, but it often felt as if I wasleading the project, and my mother was merely there as another set of hands.

After installing the third column in the courtyard at the Kelowna ArtGallery, I remember looking at the three columns, the three towering side byside for the first time, and thinking to myself, “There is a very real chance thatthese three glorified garbage heaps are what got you into university.”…thanks Mum.

Carolina Sanchez de Bustamante

250.549.4249 — Cell: 250.540.4249

www.artefunktional.com

www.ashpanaira.com

Top: “how do we make fishing line stand

up straight?”

Above: we did it together


THE WISDOMOF SPIRIT EAGLECREATING A TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION

JoAnn Restoule

As you drive onto “Bear Spirit Place” you immediately get the sense thatsomething very different and very unique happens here. Your car leaves thehighway and the road transforms into a gravel road. You can feel a shift inyour energy, and as you gaze out the back window of your car, a large billowof smoke like dust announces your arrival. The trees seem to bend over theroad creating a canopy of beauty and comfort. Driving up the narrowdriveway more trees caress your vehicle as if to “brush” you of the static thathas been carried from our busy lives.

The ravens can be heard calling out that a visitor has arrived. You emergeout into an open space, as if birthed into a new dimension of time and energy.Your eyes are drawn to the open space, and you can see an array of uniquelystyled buildings, each with its purpose. A large open garden area, cascadesdownward, like a series of platforms, each filled with treasures from theearth.

You can see a very large piling of rocks, all of various shapes and sizes, andyou remember that you were told this spiritual and natural oasis was once agravel pit. You can see a young forest to your left and there cradled in herarms, is a sweat lodge.

Its presence is strong and it looks as though it has stood through the testof time. Her name is Anungoqwan- Star Lodge.

David Somerville, or “Spirit Eagle”, as he is known in our community isthe caretaker of “Bear Spirit Place”.

It is easy to see and appreciate his flow of energy that has tenderlycaressed every rock, tree and plant. “Spirit Eagle” has crafted a unique natural

wonder where the vast garden produces organicallygrown food. It is a place where sacred ceremonies andgatherings for traditional teaching are held.

David was born into the Six Nation- IroquoianConfederacy, his people or his birth tribe have longbeen known as “Mohawk”. Their traditional name ishowever, Kanienkehaka, “The People of the Flint”.The name “Mohawk” was given to them by theneighbouring tribe of the Algonquian. The nametranslates as “Man Eaters” indicating the nature andferocity of the postcolonial relationships that weretaking place. The Kanienkehaka were known in theterritories to be proud, powerful and fierce people,

The young forest..in the distance is the

sweat lodge


protecting their way of life and their territories.David was raised in a traditional manner by his

Grandmother, until the age of 8. For many reasons hewas placed into foster care, and for a period of twoyears he was rotated through a series of foster homes.It was at this time in his life that he became aware ofthe underlying darkness and nature of humanity. Thelessons that had been planted into his heart and soulby his Grandmother: love, compassion, respect, in-tegrity, truth and kindness kept him going throughthese trying times. In 1946 David was put on to a trainand sent to live with his birth Father, Paul Somervillewhose lineage was from the Kanienkehaka and hiswife Daphne coming from the Pottawatomi people.

All of these influences, and life experiences tookDavid from foster homes to being a logger, then intothe military, then a cab driver; for the three yearsbefore going to University he worked as a Psych. Aideat a mental hospital. After graduating from universityDavid began working on reserve, in provincial andfederal political first nations organizations, and as aMinister’s adviso. In February, 1984, there came aculmination. David made a decision to leave what herefers to as his “Political” period, to return to BC’sComox valley, and devote the rest of his life to beingon the healing path.

Since that decision David has become well knownfor his insight wisdom and spiritual practice. He has

worked with people from all walks of life and is held in high regard as one ofthe “wise ones”.

His gift of being a healer has transformed the lives of many people youngand old. Over the past 5 years David has been involved with the Truth andReconciliation process, that has been taking place all over Canada. As a healerhe has stood by, witnessed, and supported the many people who have comebefore the commission to testify and tell their life stories.

David feels that the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is an addeddimension to the awakening that has been taking place in our country forsome time. With the truth being held before us, we have that “rare secondchance to seize the opportunity at reconciliation “and create a right and justrelationship amongst ourselves. In order for true healing to take place wemust all join together and walk side by side and in some cases hand in handalong the sacred path.

Top: A view of the garden

Above: Turtle Council House A traditional

style building made to complement the

style of tipi, hogan, and big house of First

Nations People of Turtle Island-North

America. In this building many people of all

ages com to receive teachings and or take

part in sacred ceremonies.


DAVID REFLECTSAt a meeting in Ottawa at AFN headquarters, I wasintroduced to the office staff working there at that timeand JoAnn was one of those staff. It was one of those briefmeetings where one person is introduced to a number ofpeople and seldom remembers them all. We next met herein the Comox Valley around 1989. She was married to aKwakiutl Hereditary Chief who I was getting to knowquite well. In fact, we became so close that I have been anadopted member of his family since 1992. The plot thick-ens. JoAnn has Odjig lineage and by European way ofdoing family we are distant relatives. By Tribal custom -she is my niece. This marriage dissolved in 1999 but wehave as a family worked through the turmoil and all havebeen on good terms for a long season now.

I have been a member of the Cultural Support Teamfor Residential School Survivors on Vancouver Islandsince it was formed in the fall of 2007 by Tsow Tun Le Lumhealing centre on the Snaw Naw Was reserve just north ofNanaimo. We have provided healing and cultural supportfor survivors in their adjudicator hearings; as well duringthe years of the Truth and Reconciliation unfolding we

provided healing and cultural support at Regional and National Truth andReconciliation gatherings.

In February of this year we provided healing and cultural support for theCeremonies in Alert Bay preparing for the demolition of the residentialschool there. I am a member of three Elder’s Advisory Councils and findmyself in wonderment that I am the oldest on all three as well as on theCultural Support Team. One of these Advisory Councils is for AboriginalMental Health in the Comox Valley and Campbell River. One of the activitiesI am involved with in this Council is the presenting of the experientialteaching circle - “Building Bridges through The Village”. Among the peoplewe have done this teaching circle for are health care workers includingphysicians and hospital administrators, social workers, teachers, educationadministrators and many more. These are usually [but not exclusively] heldin either the Comox Bighouse or the Campbell River Bighouse and for mostof the participants it is the first time they have been in a Kwakiutl Bighouse.

“Building Bridges through The Village” is a powerful experience oflearning and reconciliation for most participants and has changed the atti-tudes and perceptions of these people. What I consider to be a powerfulexample of this change occurred last winter when an Elder Kwakiutl womanand I were requested to conduct a healing and transformation Ceremony forthe Psych. ward and staff at the local hospital following a patient committingsuicide. That would never have happened before the hospital staff andadministrators experienced “The Village” at Bear Spirit Place. Another

David Sommerville in the traditional

ceremonial BigHouse of the Campbell River

First Nation


aspect of this land I care take of is Turtle CouncilHouse which is located in the Ceremony Area of theplace, near the Sweat Lodge. Turtle Council House isan eight sided [circular] structure with a central firepit. It is about twenty feet in diameter and from theground to the smoke hole is eighteen feet. VariousCeremonies are conducted here and as well there arefairly regular healing and teaching circles. On the 25thof June I conducted a Sweat Lodge Ceremony fol-lowed by a Traditional Teaching Circle in TurtleCouncil House for Kwakiutl District Council MentalHealth and Addictions staff. Since I began my per-sonal healing journey in the fall of 1963 - I have beenblessed by having numerous Culture Keeper mentorsfrom a number of different Tribes without which I donot know where I might be today. In those early daysCultural knowledge was being kept alive in secret soI have been privileged to see and be involved in majortransformations and healing which include the TRCbut are not exclusive to the TRC.

POSTSCRIPTDuring the dark time in David’s growing up years hisnew stepmother was Daphne Odjig. Her heritage is acombination of Odawa, Potawatomi and English roots.Her mother was a war bride who moved to Canada.

David says Daphne became his true mother. Herearly story, much like that of many of her generation, was one of oppression,discrimination and racism. Yet despite all of these obstacles, she is nowknown as one of Canada’s most famous First Nations Artists. Her manyawards include the Order of Canada and the Governor General’s Award. Shewas the driving force behind the Professional Native Indian Artists Incorpo-ration, better known as the Indian Group of Seven.

JoAnnRestoule is a Youth Family Support Worker at Mark R. Isfeld. She can be contacted at

[email protected]

Top: David seated in the circle in the

traditional Big House of the Campbell River

First Nation. Preparing to assist in a cultural

awareness -The Village Workshop, an

experimental session designed to facilitate a

better understanding of the impact of

residential schools and the Indian Act on

First Nations.

Above: David in Turtle Council House-

working with youth- young men from the

schools


I NEVER INTENDTO FEEL OLDPauline Duncan-Thrasher

Though I was only a little girl at the time I remember my mother’s disap-pointment when she heard the words “too old to be a model.” She was only28! Her teen years of modeling were past. It was an era when many womendid feel “old” at a much younger age. Personally I intend to never feel “old.”

In the book I wrote dedicated to my mother, who died in a psychiatricward at age 54, I have a chapter called “Awesome Aging”. this is an excerptfrom that chapter:

“Awesome aging is living fully this minute with the delight of a child andthe wisdom of an adult who knows that life offers no guarantees. Awesomeaging is a positive, spirited response to life that illuminates everyone youmeet. Ageless women have visible, tangible vitality. Happiness becomes adaily way of thinking: joyful for being alive mixed with realistic coping skillsfor life’s daily challenge

Now, seven years later, I am 73, having lived longer than my mother,father, and a favorite aunt and uncle, I am enjoying fresh opportunities toengage in writing, acting, storytelling and even art!

Brushing aside, pun intended, the need to create spectacular art and justenjoy the experience came only a few weeks ago with a four hour coursespread over two nights. My Art was certainly not ready for a gallery, but it wasfun! Singing and acting with way fewer inhibitions than I felt in my twentiesis an adventure made possible with programs designed to promote creativityin our community.

As we rejoice in our own skins and learn to be happy for others, we canteach just by the way we choose to live. That comes with encouraging othersto develop their talents. Many awesome agers are wonderful mentors and“nice people” to be around.

That is the kind of person I want to be.

Why?January 30,Me 73My goodness shining forthOr is it maybe just an acceptance of me and them?

Why this sudden surge of feeling beautiful?Why not then, when my twenties yearned to feel specialCraving with a parched thirsty, bitterness of outsidednessBy men I thought were attractive.

Taken in March 2015.

My mother and me on the cover of my

book Swimmin’ Women


Was it perchance my cool, put on act of disdainDesperately wanting to be noticedOutwardly, eyes cast aside, never making contactExcept with those who seemed no threat.What’s that?threat?ah so you were indeed feelingA little afraid.Never imagining that they too may have felt wantingI too self inverted to look outsideToday no such qualms obsess my mind- is it marriage or is it ageThat brings wisdom of realizing others too have feelings, wantJust as you used to want?Able finally to look openly with appreciation at everyone I meetCalming their discomfortWhen once it was only about my own youthful raw need. ~ Pauline

From Getting RealEvery age needs to relax, breathe, stretch, be stillPains and pleasures we get and begetNot less just different as we agePerspective allows us to gaugeHow and when to release nit-picky stuffTrivial goofs that used to make us huff.

Calmly, with an inner self satisfied smileWe release silly worries, foolish friends, guile.

Get back to what’s real and accept what we do.Learn to believe in ourselves like a comfy aged shoeWorn but shiny from loving good careTailored to suit us. ~ Pauline

Pauline Duncan-Thrasher [email protected]


IF THESE AREMISTSAN OCTOGENARIAN’S JOURNEY “THROUGH THELOOKING GLASS”

Alberto Azzis

There was still about an hour to go until dawn. The sky was slowlyexchanging its dark mantle of night for the clear gown of day. This wild andisolated place was suffused with anticipatory shimmering, subtle and arcanereverberations and beguilements. Listening intently to the silence, I mademy way along a steep glade glimmering with mist: creeping tendrils of fogcurled around my feet and lapped at my legs. Surprised, disconcerted, Iwondered whether these bizarre vapours were not in fact silent occultbeings. Or sly, mocking elves. Or worse still, vagrant souls in affliction.Wafted by the morning breeze, these ethereal agglomerations drifted aim-lessly in wayward clusters. Maybe on their way to some secret and exclusivetryst. Although ignorant of their real essence, I was stirred to curiosity by thedelicate clarity of these mists, by their endlessly shifting shapes, their bril-liance and consistency. And naturally I felt cheered, inclined to benign andgenial thoughts. So I proceeded on my way softly, almost on tiptoes, notwishing to ruffle or upset these delicate aggregations, nor to disturb the peaceof this unspoilt glade with clumping feet.

I had already crossed a wide stretch of the steep clearing: it was almostdawn. And yet everything was still immersed in total silence; in an oblivionthat would long outlast the gradual fading of the stars. Nonetheless – I wascertain – this solitary place throbbed with life; it quivered with secret vigour,abounding in wild creatures which, although awake, chose to linger on lazily,sluggishly, in their snug dens and warm shelters.

Meanwhile, the fog had grown thicker, more leaden and stagnant: it wasnow a soft carpet, a vaporous blanket, above which I emerged, suffused in amagical morning light, as in certain naive images of saints. I felt as if I hadentered upon some unreal world. An enchanting corner of paradise. I yieldedto the pleasurable curiosity of this evanescent whiteness. And I gazed withrapture at the sky, whose peerless delights I seemed already to be enjoying:a single pale star held out against the assault of the day. The others – distantwinking lights, which had been doused, one by one, by invisible candle-snuffers – had already performed their nightly task of explicit testimony. Ofdevout and fervent glorification.

I had now left that wide glade and was clambering up a steep, imperviousescarpment, swathed in unbroken vapours: soft Opaline mists, with strangecrested appendages, with tufts, plumes and coils: complex adjuncts, startlingresidues that gradually frayed and faded just above my head.

Although ignorant oftheir real essence, I wasstirred to curiosity bythe delicate clarity ofthese mists, by theirendlessly shiftingshapes, their brillianceand consistency.


“An eye-catching phenomenon,” I thought, “buta natural and perfectly comprehensible one. A phe-nomenon that is entirely consistent with thermody-namic physics. And thus with the principles of ther-mal conductivity and vaporisation...” However, just amoment later, in blatant contrast with the naturalorder of things, I was confronted with somethingsudden and disconcerting: minuscule misty forma-tions, which had broken off and roamed free from thepolymorphous mass, hovered and settled around myshoulders. They conformed, in perfect synchrony, tomy slow pace. They followed me in orderly fashion,calm and silent.

“A bizarre phenomenon,” I said to myself, gazingin wonderment at these silvery tufts, these amiablecloudlets, that so strangely clustered around me, pre-sumably caused by slight breezes, air-streams thathave adapted themselves to my measured pace. Orperhaps miniature vortexes created by my move-ments.

But just a moment later I felt perplexed. I wasassailed by doubts. Serious and well-founded suspi-cions. And inevitably I found myself thinking inexpli-

cable facts. Strange presences. Evanescent entities. I recalled those mysteri-ous, elusive elves that haunt the great silences, the austere solitudes, the wildand deserted places.

However, the phenomenon was a short-lived one - no more than aminute. Just enough time to walk a hundred paces, more or less. And then,quite suddenly, those gentle and discreet companions broke their stern ranks.They slowly shrivelled, languished, becoming faint and diaphanous. Finally,tranquil and austere, they vanished into space. And I, alas, felt sad and hurt- as if I had lost firm allies and supporters. The invisible candle-snuffers hadmeanwhile extinguished the last star and the sky, in anticipation of dawn, wastaking on festive hints of yellow, of pink and blue. The mists were assumingluminous transparent hues. I felt a sudden sense of well-being: a strangedelicious freshness. Instinctively I passed my hand through my hair; it wasdamp. As were my face and neck, my clothes and my rucksack.

“Dew,” I said to myself, “morning dew, fresh, restorative, and brac-ing.” And I took a deep breath. I gazed at the great massifs that stood outsharply above the vaporous expanse. And then I was newly assailed byperplexity, by nagging doubts.

“Strange! Is it possible,” I asked myself, “that these silvery drops of dew– nothing more than liquefied water vapour – should instill such a sense ofwell-being, such invigorating freshness?” And instinctively I meditated on thestrange, disturbing enigma. I trudged along in puzzled reflection until I

Out of The Mists, a vision painting by

Alberto


reached a high narrow pass. And there, in that bare,impervious place, I decided to halt. I deposited myheavy bag, took some refreshment and finally laydown on the dewy ground. At once gentle, multiformvapours wrapped themselves around me with assidu-ous care: a soft white blanket; a vaporous shelter; areassuring nest. Yes, wrapped in those soft mists, I feltcocooned and sheltered. And this cheered and heart-ened me. And then, maybe thanks to this relaxingsensation of sweetness, I dozed off. I dreamed ofgolden mists. Celestial mists that bedecked me insumptuous draperies. Like the golden aureoles thatarray the bodies of saints. And the glittering halos thatcrown gods of all ages and all religions.

But just a short while later I awoke; the sun’striumphal chariot was already ablaze in the sky. I gotto my feet anxiously; everything was clear, sharp,splendid -the forest, the stream and the hulking shapesof the mountains. Yes, the world looked brand-new,gleaming, varnished, newly created. And yet I was notpleased. On the contrary I felt vexed. I grieved.

“Alas,” I said to myself, “the vast seductive blan-ket has melted away. So swiftly, as if by magic.” SadlyI shook my head. And I gazed incredulously at theplace where, scarcely a moment ago, the friendlyvapours had made their slow austere way towards

some mysterious, exclusive tryst. Then I summoned all my shreds of com-mon sense. And sound judgement.

“Why be surprised? Why wonder?” I thought at last. “The sudden fadingof that immaculate protean mantle was inevitable. No, it wasn’t fog. Notpassive inert fog, but dawn – spirit – conscious living energy.”

Alberto Azzis came to Canada from Italy after retirement at age 66. He and his wife settled

into Kelowna 10 years ago. He was in grade eleven when he started to take drawing, but

was discouraged by his teacher who felt he used his imagination too much. Later his mother

bought him paints and he has painted ever since staying up until 2 or 3 in the morning

to paint even during his busy career years. “It was my relaxation. I learned to paint from my

grandmother, the mother of my mother. She was a great painter and I still have the work

she gave me. My grandfather, the father of my father, painted too. I am not a professional. I

am a dilettante, but I love to paint. In my profession I was a dentist.” The voice inside his

head and journeying with his imagination has brought Alberto great pleasure over the last

two decades.

I See Her In My Dreams, by Alberto.


BROWN SWAMPPAINTINGLEARNING TO LOVE MUDDY ART

Lisa Lipsett

The transformative potential of the creative process is realized when we plungethrough the world of second-hand news and personally place our finger on the pulseof the live, wild universe. -Peter London, Drawing closer to nature

When I started natural painting almost 20 years ago, I used only clearbright watercolours that energized in a cheery uplifting way. Just as I tried indaily life to keep smiling no matter how I felt, I did the same with my art.Many times I heard myself and now hear my students worry about a paintinggoing to mud brown or getting messy and swampy as if this is a sign ofultimate failure. But I now know that by embracing the mud we are offeredone of the biggest gifts of painting- the potential for transformation whencommitment time and patience work their magic. We are taught theuniversal wild cycle of self-change as it is catalyzed and mirrored in paint.Both the clear bright and messy brown swamp are necessary stages in thiscycle.

Earth, its dark, full of body, not the sunny pale surface of a watercolour.—Joanna Field, On not being able to paint

Mud painting is where humans began. More than thirty thousand years ago,first peoples used earth pigments to express themselves on bodies, rock andpottery. The original ochers of brown, golden yellow, red iron oxide, orange,black and white were ground from river rocks and carved out of hillsides.Early humans used materials that were very brown, primal and so close to theearth, as were the artists themselves.

Once, I surveyed a group of colleagues, friends and family about theirassociations with brown. I was surprised to learn about their consistentlynegative reaction. Brown is associated with dull, boring, low energy, andreminds them of excrement, being dirty, hippies, wimps, death, mud,worms, swamps and rot. One friend offered that a businessman in a brownsuit is a loser. It seems that for many, brown is a drab dirty colour lacking lifeand vitality. It takes more than it gives. It’s the colour of naiveté, a ruralfarmer’s colour.

Surprisingly the tone and demeanour of interviewees changed consider-ably when I inquired about earth tones. They offered that earth is browncombined with speckled colours, rich, and full of life, like humus. Happychildhood memories of making mud pies, creating, scooping, and piling updirt were retold.

Messy Brown Swamp


The markedly different feeling responses to the wordsbrown and earth intrigued me because it seems bothcolours really look the same.

Swamps seem to hold the negative connotation ofbrown. In nature, swamps are the home for thick brownsoupiness whose essence is like blood —viscous, nourish-ing, rich in nutrients, a brown stew of potential.

Neither land nor water, a swamp ties both together inspace and time. Water moves in, rests, and exits just asquietly again. It is a place filled with stillness, a wetland,filled with moisture and possibility, a still place that is fullof life.

There can be a heavy negative connotation to beingmired in a swamp. When my Mom used to tell me myroom looked like a swamp it was not meant as an encour-aging endearment. There was no telling what kind ofmold I was growing under my bed. You couldn’t seeanything for all the chaos and clutter. It was a dangerousact of rebellion to not meticulously fold my clothes andshelve my belongings. Things might recombine, formnew monstrous life and take over the house and mypsyche if they were not kept in closets and drawers. Thesame goes for painting; I feel the need to sometimes keepcolours and shapes organized and separate.

Being swamped with work connotes a sinking feeling,a sense that there was no seeing to the end. It is a murkyplace, filled with furtive gasps for air and continual tread-ing. Being swamped has a disheveled look to it, for there

is no luxury of time for smoothing out wrinkles or preparing a nourishingmeal. Things have a wild pace all their own, a life all their own and theswampee is charged with staying afloat despite this. A swamp is also a waterfilter of sorts that purifies, removes the toxins, bubbles up new combinationsand new lives. It is a marginal place of beginning and ending.

Like a swamp of primordial ooze, a messy painting is like a container, awet fecund place from which new life emerges. We are welcomed intometamorphosis of which brown melting down to liquid is a necessary step.

...all in tears, she melted,dissolving, queen no longer ofthose waters, her limbs wereseen to soften, and her bonesbecame more flexible, and

Top: Ochers

Above: Earth dancers

the nails’ hardness was gone:the slenderest parts wentfirst, the hair, the fingers, legsand feet....—G. Karl Galinsky, Metamorphoses

In the insect world, butterflies and moths are the embodiment of metamor-phosis. We can learn a great deal about our own creative cycles by paying


attention to how their swamp stage is necessary fornew life. Deliquescence is the name given to themelting down of the caterpillar in preparation for thecreation of the butterfly/moth. It involves the disso-lution of old structures and the subsequent nourish-ing of the dormant life lying in wait. All this happensin synchrony with the resonant spin of the planet, thepattern of night and day, and the dance of coldnessand warmth. Yet outwardly there is cocoon-like si-lence and stillness. By regular looking it is really hardto tell if there is anything actually happening.

Painting allows us to play with what happenswhen we dive wholeheartedly into the messy brownmuck. Messy muddy painting helps us to stir andstew, allowing new life to bubble up on the canvas andin ourselves. When things go muddy, the end result ofan individual painting matters little. If you are willing

to commit to the expression of the soul of an image trying to be born throughyour hands, new beauty will emerge. This takes commitment to patiently letthe art lead each time we paint. We learn to trust natural cycles of clear andmuddy over the course of years. As a new painter this can be challenging.Think of your relationship to painting like the one between a dreamer andtheir dreams. In a dream we let ourselves be led by forces deeper than ourplanning mind.

We miss that opportunity on the page and in life when we steer awayfrom the mud, try and drive it into lighter directions or push away from it alltogether. Even though the stakes may feel high in the moment in reality weare safe and contained yet totally free to explore and experience withabandon.

At heart, I am now a swamp dweller. It took many months of paintingbefore I found myself using brown. It gave so little energy unlike the brightclarity of the primary colours I loved. Brown is now a source of fascinationfor me. It asks more of me than the instantly energizing brilliance of othercolours. Brown allows me to rest my gaze and calm myself. Brown swamppainting makes me happy because I know that welcoming the swamp is a partof transformation, an alchemical melting down done with beautiful recom-bination. I know it won’t last forever and I am curious to see where it will takeme.

There is balance in bright and muted. The caterpillars of most tawny silkmoths are the brightest primary greens, red, blues and yellows. Where theyare in their cycle of caterpillar or moth, determines their coloured nature.Same with us.

Sometimes we will be bright, at other times earthy. As a painter weenrich our experience if we accept and work in harmony with whatever istrying to emerge. We must provide space for the new to come clear. We must

Caterpillar and moth

If you are willing tocommit to theexpression of the soulof an image trying tobe born through yourhands, new beauty willemerge.


continually do this with both our images and with our creative flow.Paradoxically we need to go to mud to get clear again.

To bring back the creativelife, the waters have to beclear and clean again. Wehave to wade into the sludge,purify the contaminants,reopen the apertures, protectthe flow from future harm.– Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women who run with the wolves

Activity to try.What is your relationship to swampy brown?Paint with a really wet page using fluid acrylics or well-diluted watercolours.Lose yourself in the liquidy world they create.How would it feel to intentionally create a mess while youpaint? Observe what you hear yourself saying in your head as you make amess. Go to the brown.Finally an exploration of brown swampiness would not be complete withoutactually painting beside a swamp or with muddy swamp water. I encourageyou to give this a try!

Artist Lisa Lipsett’s work focuses on the transformative potential of hands-on art with Earth

in mind. Visit www.creativebynature.org to see Lisa’s courses, books, blog and fine art to

inspire drawing and painting with Earth and heart.

Swamp painting

As a painter we enrichour experience if weaccept and work inharmony withwhatever is trying toemerge.


PROFILEART AND COMMUNITYAj Jaeger

Metal, what a wonderful material ... Strong and yet malleable, symbolically just

like humans. When we are young, we are physically strong and most likely tough

to bend, with approaching age, we become weaker, physically, yet softer and

wiser in our action. Despite certain restrictions that are supposed to slow us

down, we can stay young and active while staying interested and involved.

I have always had an affinity for different metals, mostly the aged and used

ones, and I am not so interested in the new and shiny. Rusty steel, aged copper,

scratch aluminum, all of these have their own personality and had their place in

life.

‘A Glimpse of our Tomorrow’ was created for a 3 month period (June-

September 2015) of an outside display at the Lake Country Art Gallery, a

charming small public gallery, with a very active group of artists and art patrons. I

have been intrigued by the new ideas that have come out of this ‘art think tank’

and jumped on the possibility of creating a large 8x8 feet mural made of metal

mounted on plywood. The gathering of the materials has been fun, I got to go

back to my friends at Action Metal in Kelowna, these tough guys have a soft spot

for artists. I always enjoy going for an exploratory walk on their grounds. As well I

found other sources for used metal.

The idea for ‘A Glimpse of our Tomorrow’ was born by watching what is

happening in our valley where urban sprawl encroaching into our serene

landscape. It’s nothing we can stop, we might not even want to...yet it is nice to

see how some communities are careful in the planning of their future. Lake

Country seems to have found the right balance of growth to attract people by

adding cultural facilities like the LCAG and the Lake Country Coffee House, in

repurposed buildings like the old slaughterhouse. These entities are providing a

local attraction of comfort and education at the same time.

While taking on the challenge to work with the medium of metal and the size

of the mural, I am grateful to being able to work and create at and with my

friend and mentor Doug Alcock, a well-known blacksmith and artist from the

North Okanagan.

Doug has always been the quiet voice that brings forward new ideas on how

to approach my challenging ventures. He is the ‘go to person ‘ who instills the

trust, that I have the capability to

do what the challenge is asking

for. I am grateful that I am still

physically able to do this kind of

work, and to see and hear the

response from the community

and my fellow artists convinces

me, that life still has a lot to offer

for me, to try out and to learn.

My hope is that for many years to

come I will be able to take on

new

Top: Lake Country Gallery

Above: Community worked together (Doug is

standing)

Right: Painting by area artist Julie Oakes


Left top to bottom:

Experimenting with colour

and texture

Mixing colours

Sometimes I can laugh at

myself

Right: It feels good to see

what I’ve done

PROFILERON JORGENSENJenny Sato, volunteer coordinator ofPlaying With Paints

Two years ago Ron moved to a residential facility. After coping with Parkin-

son’s disease for several years, he needed more assistance with daily living,

including meals. He had previously enjoyed cooking and entertaining but

gradually became unable to use utensils safely. His hobby, tying fishing flies,

also became too difficult as his tremors increased.

Last fall, he joined a painting group at the facility. It took a few times

before he warmed up to the idea of painting and gradually, it has become

the creative outlet that was once provided by cooking. The group’s emphasis

was on the process of creation, not necessarily the outcome so Ron was able

to proceed at his own pace and experiment with colour and texture. Most

often, he uses gloved hands to apply acrylic to canvas, although he has been

known to apply paint to glass tiles, foam visors and cardboard, all to satisfy

his curiosity.

In an interview with Kate Dusik, the local marketing manager for Baptist

Housing, Ron said, “I like learning how to shade and use colours to make

custom colours.” He accesses the internet to learn about techniques and to

find inspiration.

Ron tells me he shows everyone his work because “I’m proud of it.”

Initially, he was skeptical of compliments but gradually, he decided, “Maybe I

am doing a good job. I like the feel of paint on my fingers. It feels good to

see what I’ve done.”

Ron’s paintings evoke a sense of motion and exploration of colour. A few

of his earlier works have been reproduced as postcards, for sale in the

facility’s ‘General Store’ and recently, plans are being made to hang some of

his paintings in the local office of a research organization.

As a column in the Baptist Housing newsletter noted, “The urge to create

is fundamental to some people, but when your outlet of choice is no longer

feasible it is heartening to know that there are other avenues (some that we

haven’t even considered) to explore.” Ron agrees – he hopes that by telling

his story, it will encourage others to be open to the educational process and

to try something new.


The Journal ofCreative Aging

EDITED BY KAREN CLOSE

NUMBER 17, FALL 2015

ISSN 1920-5848

INSIDE THIS ISSUE5 SHAPING MY LIFE INTO ART

Julie Oakes9 SAGE-ING INVITES CULTURAL

EXCHANGE AND ASSIMILATIONDr. Toye Oyelese MD

13 THE ME I NEVER DARED TO BEGeri Thom

16. WIELDING THE BRUSH ANDDRINKING TEAElizabeth Elstner and Steven Kenney

19 EVERYDAY’S A JOURNEY INTOFULFILMENT AND PLEASUREMadelyn Hamilton

22 THE ART IN A DEPARTURE: TAKINGTIME TO PACK THE VALUABLESCarolina Sanchez de Bustamante andMaxwell Sterry

25 THE WISDOM OF SPIRIT EAGLE:CREATING A TRUTH ANDRECONCILIATIONJoAnnRestoule

29 I NEVER INTEND TO FEEL OLDPauline Duncan-Thrasher

31 IF THESE ARE MISTS: ANOCTOGENARIAN’S JOURNEY“THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS”Alberto Azzis

34 BROWN SWAMP PAINTING:LEARNING TO LOVE MUDDY ARTLisa Lipsett

38 PROFILE: ART AND COMMUNITYAj Jaeger

39 PROFILE: RON JORGENSEN

Jenny Sato

A PUBLICATION OF

THE OKANAGAN INSTITUTE

AVAILABLE ONLINE AT

www.sageing.ca

SAGE-INGSage-ing with Creative Spirit, Grace andGratitude exists to honour thetransformational power of creativity. It is a quarterly journal intended as an

initiative for collaboration and sharing.It presents the opportunity for the freeexchange of wisdom gleaned fromcreative engagement. We invite all agesto contribute their discoveries. Sage-ing is about seeking - satisfying

inner gnawing and transforming it toknowing and action. Aging can bealchemy when one allows the realisationthat to Know Thyself and contribute thatknowing to our culture is indeed one oflife’s highest purposes. That knowingbrings the gratitude, grace and integritythat a life deserves. The creative journeyinto self is a strong aid to health and well-being for the individual and to ourculture. This journal exists for all those serious

in exploring their creativity, in a chosenexpression. It is a forum for publicationand exposure to other artists, both noviceand established. This journal is an easelfor any form of artistry undertaken out ofpersonal intuition and imagination.

WITH CREATIVE SPIRIT,GRACE & GRATITUDE

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THE JOURNAL OF Creative Aging SAGE-ING · CREATIVE AGING is a powerful new social and cultural movement that is stirring the imaginations of communities and people everywhere. This